The border crossing from Ethiopia to Kenya was rather unusual, meaning there were no fences, no signs and not even a checkpoint. Just a sandy track leading from one country to another, so without a GPS it is virtually impossible to say where one ends and the other begins. We got our passports stamped (with a wrong date as the guy wasn't sure and we weren't either) at Omorate police station which is still some 60 kilometers away from the border, and got on our way through the sand.
Even before we reached the border, we managed to fall down a couple of times as the sand was really soft and sometimes deep. With one fall we managed to get the right tank sidebag ripped off, reminding us how vulnerable we actually are in this kind of environment - with the next sizeable village some 250 kilometers away from the border, any serious breakdown or an injury could have meant big, big trouble. The few villages we passed only consisted of shacks more reminiscent of refugee camps, and looking at the tracks in front of us we could tell there was not much traffic moving there. Needless to say, the fact did not add to our confidence.
Track started very good - almost ideal to ride with the big fully loaded GS.
But some 10 km (6 mi) later, the sand suddenly got soft and stayed like this. Only some couple of hundred miles more to go!
Water pump in one of the villages on the road - good to fill up, next possible water is in Ileret, Kenya.
Soon after we crossed the border into Kenya we passed by the village of Ileret - shacks all the same, but there was a police station where our details were written down, our passports (as well as the Carnet) remaining unstamped (to do upon reaching Nairobi, the capital). The track became more and more vague, and as we entered what is the Sibiloi National Park, it was barely there. The heat was just unberable - we measured around +40C (+104F) in shade. We stopped in the middle of some bush, and immediately, out of nowhere, some locals came to check us out. Didn't really think someone would live in that dry bush.
Typical village architecture near lake Turkana.
Once you turn into Sibiloi national park, the track is barely visible.
Locals came out of the bush - in the middle of nowhere! They were very shy and kept distance though.
The sand that we'd been cursing before soon turned into rocks with the track becoming something out of a motorcyclist's worst dream. The loose rocks were sometimes the size of a bowling ball, and with our heavily loaded bike it was a combination that left something to be desired riding in this heat. Added to that was the strong wind and blistering sun, so we kept on wondering, where the hell had we come?
Rocky lava fields ahead...
The first curve across the lava field - got to be careful, since the very round and lightweight volcanic rocks roll like there's no tomorrow!
Rocky track.
Average track conditions in Sibiloi National Park.
Me tired, lake Turkana in the horizon.
Trying to find every shade possible in +40C (+104F) heat, add vicious sun to that!
Kariina took a pic of tired me - red from the face like a lobster!
All this made progressing extremely difficult, so we only moved in 50 meter steps. The steering was totally uncontrollable as the front wheel was trying to negotiate the rolling stones, I intentionally didn't let the tyre pressures down risking punctures or damaged rims, going alone like we did, a breakdown would have ment horror here. These must be the worst in the world as they are light and move in every direction so that on the bike it feels as if a bunch of guys is trying their best to kick you off your feet while you're trying to stay in the upright position. The steep ascents on loose rolling volcanic rocks were almost impossible, so Kariina had to walk and sometimes push. It seemed that the rocks would never end, and at one moment I just got off the bike and refused to move on. I was totally exhausted! We spent an hour sitting under a thorny bush, cooked some pasta and dreamed of the expanses of soft sand - a true bliss compared to those rocks!
It seems we had made a mistake going through the Sibiloi national park, since from what we heard later, the road around it is more used and thus better maintained. In the national park it was just a barely visible track - a true hardcore offroad in the very definition. Combine this with a two up fully loaded RTW bike, huge distances, killer heat and all this in one of the most remote places on Earth, and you get lots of "fun"!
Trying to take a nap, although it turned out to be impossible to relax if being soaked in your own sweat and the little shade didn't help.
By the time the sun was setting the sand was back. Not that it provided much relief, but we were actually progressing and the heat got a little more tolerable. As we reached the Lake Turkana we were allowed to camp at the research station in Koobi Fora, home to just one person. Strange that this place has a name…
Closer to the shores of Lake Turkana we finally had some parts of decent sand - a hell lot better than riding on volcanic rocks!
But we were exhausted, and before too long it was clear that I was having a high fever. With the help of a small travel health handbook that we're carrying (thanks Brian and Marie, it's been helpful many times before!) Kariina diagnosed me with dehydration, so I was forced to drink a solution of rehydrating salts. We inquired the caretaker about the availability of food as we were tired of instant noodles, and he came rushing with a box of eggs he'd bought from a market across the lake - the tracks are so murderous on the vehicles that it makes sense to get supplies by boat indeed (a few rusting Land Rover Defenders with broken axles in the yard were a proof of that). I really do not want you to go to sleep hungry, he said, refusing to accept any payment. After such a difficult day, the warmth and hospitality of this guy living alone in this deserted place was heaven sent.
We left the eggs for the morning though, as it was going to be another difficult day. But in the morning, the fever was still there, so we decided to stay the day and have some rest. It turned out to be quite an interesting place, with crocodiles lazing on the small islands near the shore in the lake, and rabbits running around. In the bathroom, there was a bat.
A dragonfly in Koobi Fora.
Some bones collected in the small museum the owner keeps.
A bat on the washroom's ceiling.
Someone's shock has gone bust and has been thrown into the bush.
The caretaker informed the Ileret police station via his every morning radio communication session of our successful arrival to Koobi Fora, and later brought us some dried fish, so the good first impression of Kenya was guaranteed. But we still had some interesting stuff ahead of us…
The next day fresh ahead from Koobi Fora - hundreds of miles more offroad tracks ahead...
Considering that we wanted to reach Loiyangalani by the end of the day, we had a long way ahead. Although it is still in the middle of nowhere, at least Loiyangalani is big enough to be stocked with hot food and cold drinks. Yeah, nothing appealed to us more than the illusion of holding in our hand a bottle wet with condensation, and to let the ice cold coke flow, so after we had filled out jerry can with water from the supplies of the research station (and dropped a purifying tablet in it, which made the water taste as if some sort of anaesthetic had been added) we hit the road.
The caretaker told us there would be some more soft sand track for some 15 kilometers (10 miles), after which the track should have become better.
The start of the day.
Being too confident and full of energy is not good.
An hour later, and we were rolling (literally!) on loose gravel. It would have been OK if not for the deep ruts and strong sidewinds trying to push us off the track.
Then the gravel was replaced by big rocks that were quite different from the ones we'd suffered the first day. Some of them were loose, and some were not. In places it became so bad that it did not remind of a track at all - pure offroad, but this one even had a number - C77. Incredible, totally incredible. Sure we got the wheels off the ground a couple of times.
Seems easy? Try that with sidewinds that won't let you even stand normally!
But the most difficult parts were with the rolling volcanic rocks - lots of fun in +38C (+100F) heat.
Yes, that's the "highway".
Only some hundred miles more of this stuff... We need more rocks!
Then the track took the direction towards the lake shore again, and the rocks disappeared. It was sand once again. The locals have a saying that when God was designing the Earth he left this area for the last, but in the end he was so exhausted that he just took all the rubbish and rocks and piled them here.
Another lavafield.
Just before Loiyangalani we finally got some relief - a proper easily rideable track.
Panorama from southern side of Lake Turkana (click to enlarge)
By the end of the day, we indeed had managed to get to Loiyangalani. And the coke was heavenly, that's for sure! Since surprisingly for us it cost the same to either pitch a tent or to sleep in a local style hut, we decided to try the latter one out.
Our hut for the night in Loiyangalani.
A Rendille tribe woman in front of her village.
With four different tribes calling it their home, Loiyangalani is a parade of colourful outfits. In the morning we got up early and went for a walk around the village to get a better picture of how they live. Although some of them are intermarried, the general tendency is that the Turkana, Samburu, Rendille and El-Molo live in separate corners of the village, so before the light conditions got terrible (and they do get terrible close to the equator), we only got to visit the Turkana and Rendille.
Girl carrying water home.
Rendille woman in traditional dress.
Turkana village.
Typical house in the village.
Girl carrying water for home...
Portrait of a woman from Turkana tribe.
Portrait of a Samburu boy.
We got on our way again, aiming to get to Maralal some two hundred kilometers away by night fall. Once again we were told the bad conditions would last for a couple of dozens of kilometers more, but what spectacular kilometers they were, the track skirting the lake shore.
A hell lot improved track on the Southern side of Lake Turkana.
Shores of Lake Turkana.
Waves and reflections on the lake...
Lake Turkana, decent trail, decent scenery.
Turkana tribeswoman checking us out.
A higher view to Lake Turkana.
Then it indeed became better at one point, the rocks being replaced by sand - much more rideable, but still slow going. The thing with the sand is that its texture may change from hard to soft in a blink of an eye. We'd learned our lessons on previous days, and figured that 16 offs were enough already, so we took it easy.
Desert turning slowly into savannah...
Finally some trees...
Funky blossoming African tree.
And close to South Horr the track got very good - it now took the definition of "road" (well, for some couple of miles only though...)
Local flora.
On multiple occasions on this track had we concluded that it must in fact have been the toughest of the ones we'd ever undertaken, combining deep, soft sand, loose gravel, deep ruts, rolling lava stones, strong winds… I mean our bike had been tried out in difficult conditions before, such as the uninhabited highlands of South-West Bolivia, muddy jungle roads of Brazil, Australian corrugated outback, rivercrossings in Laos, the snow clad slopes of the Himalayas… but this was even worse, and most of all, lasted for hundreds of kilometers. Hot as hell, too. Our Hyperpro shocks were doing an exceptional job, to say the least.
But just as we were thinking of it, the track started climbing again, up a steep rocky slope. It was torturous. After a while we stopped to catch our breath as Kariina noticed a few drops of clear liquid under the bike. At first she thought it was water, because our jerry can containing water was leaking a little, but then she decided to check the shock as well, just in case (we do know the drill by now…).
It was not water - it was oil, and sure enough it was coming from the shock. Well, couldn't really have blamed the shock looking at what it had had to endure, but then we got the seat off the bike (which, at first, refused to get off) to see where it was leaking from exactly, and we realised what really had happened. The frame had cracked near the shock mount big time, also damaging the bolt keeping the shock's external reservoir hose in place - this why the seat didn't come off as well. So it wasn't the shock that had given in this time, but due to the frame it was screwed all the same. It must be a curse, no doubt.
In any case we were unable to ride on as any sharp bump could have forced the shock through the seat right into my backside.
Stuck with a broken rear subframe - Kariina went to see if road got better behind the curve, obviously it didn't so there was no point continuing even very slowly.
Cracked frame - the shock's external reservoir's bolt was deformed with a contact against one side of the crack = shock leaking oil from the loosened hydraulic bolt. A complete irony with our ever continuing rear shock problems! It's not the shock's fault this time, but the result is the same - ruined rear shock!
So we were stuck in the middle of nowhere on a road where during three days we had only seen one vehicle. It was very unlikely anybody would have come by and found us the same day. Maybe the next day, or the day after the next day? We had only enough water lo last us through to the next morning, so unless we wanted to risk ending up on vultures' Christmas menu, we had to act.
Since the whole thing had a good potential of turning into an emergency situation, we looked up our satellite phone and tried contacting our honorary consul in Kenya first, but to no avail. Who knows, maybe she was on vacation or something.
Then, with some help from a friend, we got hold of a guy who runs an exceptionally popular overlander campground and a workshop in Nairobi. We called him and he started to look for a contact that could get us out of that place.
Meanwhile, to our greatest surprise, and to an even greater delight, we heard a buzz coming from around the bend, and soon a small chinese bike carrying two men and a whole lot of luggage rolled out. We knew that those guys might just be our best bet.
First they suggested we try repairing the thing with wires and metal tubes they had with them, but we managed to convince them that no way would such a set-up hold. We were talking about a heavy bike and disasterous road conditions after all. Then one of them realised that he had a cousin in the next village, who knew someone who knew someone who had a Land Rover. Sounded almost too good to be true, but we got our satellite phone (of course there was no mobile coverage) and had the guy call who ever he knew. Before too long we had a deal. He was first asking 10 000 shilling for coming after us and taking us to that next village which, by the way, was only 25 kilometers away. After some negotiations we got the price down to 7 000 shilling. Which was still awful lot of money considering the short istance, but who were we to argue?
The guys on the motorbike continued their journey, leaving us to wait for our pick-up to arrive. An hour went by, two hours went by. The sun set and very soon it was dark. We started wondering about the chance that no one would turn up to rescue us, but found it unlikely. It could be a matter of life and death after all. Then we tried to imagine how it would be to camp there. Suddenly, we heard barking in the bush. It did not sound like a dog. A hyena maybe? Or a jackal? Or a wild dog? We did not have any idea what sound they could be making. Just in case we looked up our knives and were prepared to climb the nearest tree.
We looked around anxiously. It was pitch dark, but in the beams from our head lamps we could see a pair of eyes watching us closely some 30 meters away in the bush. Scary indeed.
But before we could decide to jump onto a tree, we noticed a pair of headlights on the horizon. As they approached us, the enigmatic beast in the bush disappeared.
After a lot of sweating we had the bike loaded onto the pickup and our long ride on the moonscape-like road to the next village, Baragoi, could begin. In the dark the track looked and felt even worse - much more uneven than we could ever have imagined the surface of the Moon to be, actually. But we were exhausted and our bodies were numb, so we just bounced to the rhythm of cracks and boulders in the ground. And to Mariah Carey and religious Kenyan rap. Our driver, Daniel, is learning to become a priest.
In Baragoi we met the owner of the car, and the next morning - after having had a deep sleep in our thent that we had pitched in his back yard - we agreed with him - after long and extremely painful negotiations - that the same car would take us to Nairobi where we had better chances to do some repairs. Why painful? Let us just say that what he was asking for this trip sounded totally incredible, even absurd - it still does - but considering the conditions (and that he had to repair the axles two times on the way) I can't really blame him. Will try not to break down in such remote places in the future.
On the way to Nairobi - not the way we'd like to.
A couple of hundred kilometers before Nairobi it dawned on us that our driver had probably never driven on tarmac, let alone in a city. Well, he was a true master in offroad, but let's just say that even on the smooth tar our speeds did never exceed 40 km/h, and we constantly had to remind him to stick to the left side of the road. It was absolutely frightening. Once we almost crashed into an oncoming car because he could not make heads or tails of where on the road he was. Entering the city with its chaos was a whole new story, but we made it - after being on the road in a cramped front seat where 3 of us had to fit for 20 hours. The sun rose, another day began, and we had to start sorting out the mess…
So there we were, with a broken frame and also with a broken shock because of that - I know old Yamaha TDMs had the upper shock mount collapse over the shock when ridden hard 2 up fully loaded in extreme conditions but I've never seen frame to break from that spot on the oilhead GS. Usually they break from other well known spots (which I had reinforced before we left home), but looks we are just one unlucky couple - OK, maybe riding through Pakistan and Iran with our broken split-in-half taped up Öhlins with the bike shaking and vibrating as hell that may have put the start on cracks on the subframe's shock mount that now finally gave up in extreme conditions after we had done most of the Turkana trail.
We could have repaired the old one, but it was just too risky since the shock mount is of a very hard material - bending the crack back together all the frame started to bend around it and wouldn't fit back to the bike. Also the subframe's mounting points support onto the engine and gearbox which is made out of cast that can crack - broken engine or gearbox casing isn't a thing we want. So we decided the least risk route was to opt for a new one, which proved to be a tricky thing to find. Having explored different options, we had our friend back in Estonia unbolt his bike (the same model!) and send us his subframe, which was destined to take ages to arrive - fast services such as DHL and UPS would have charged us according to volumetric weight, the transport costing some EUR 1000! We chose regular air mail instead, and had to be patient, really patient.
Trying to close the gap on the crack - the rest of the frame started to bend around it.
As to the shock, we got it repaired very fast - a few days to send it to Hyperpro Netherlands with UPS and couple of days back (we didn't even bother with local suspension mechanics since it's been all bad experience for us - factory is your best bet of receiving reliable service and a reliable shock). And most of all Hyperpro repaired the hydraulic hose for free! It wasn't their or the shock's fault that the broken frame damaged the shock, but still they repaired it AND also included spare bearings houses for both front and rear shock. Respect to Hyperpro!
Repaired shock - looks like brand new again!
Bearing houses - if the old ones wear out there are new ones
Check the very ROUND Kenyan Goverment fee on the customs bill - welcome to Africa
So we killed our time for additional month of waiting for the new subframe...
And we also met some interesting travellers in Nairobi...
Two Norwegians doing a RTW on 70+ year old Nimbus motorcycles - it takes a real (mechanically minded) man to do it!
Open valves - they are pretty cool to look at when the engine runs.
And amongst all other travellers we met an English-Australian couple here who are pure vegetarians, so we had a chance to learn to cook some meat-free dishes, such as vegan barbeque...
Yummy...
Our first-ever 100% vegetarian grill
And after many-many depressing days of waiting, our subrame arrived - pure joy!
Old versus new.
Reinforcing the frame...
Once the bike was in one piece again - after a month and a half of waiting and worrying, all we could think of was getting out of Nairobi - the further and faster, the better. So we headed towards Uganda, but since we had not done much of sightseeing in Kenya while we were there, we did a short detour to Lake Baringo first, famous for its hippo population.
But first things first - the equator had to be crossed again since Nairobi is located on the southern hemisphere, and Lake Baringo on the northern hemisphere. Hakuna matata!
Crossing equator in Kenya.
Lake Baringo was a great contrast to the otherwise arid landscape of Kenya, but the hippoes managed to evade us completely. During the day they stay in the water, coming out to graze at night when it is too dark to see them. But we sure heard their growling through all the night, preventing us from sleeping. Hippoes are considered the most aggressive mammals in Africa, causing many human deaths. So it is wise not to stray from your tent, and to stay silent if they're around.
First light on Lake Baringo - the birds start to sing like crazy around this time.
Panorama from the lake Baringo shore (click to enlarge)
Sounds from the same place:
..:: LISTEN ::..
The next day we took the direction of Ugandan border. Some landscapes along the way:
Panorama of West Kenyan landscape (click to enlarge)
Sisal plantation.
Green stuff that makes good strong ropes.
Kenyan landscape on the way to Uganda.
Before we crossed the borded we filled our tummies with some local freshwater fish called tilapia.
Fish and chips African style...
Next stop: Uganda.
Even before we reached the border, we managed to fall down a couple of times as the sand was really soft and sometimes deep. With one fall we managed to get the right tank sidebag ripped off, reminding us how vulnerable we actually are in this kind of environment - with the next sizeable village some 250 kilometers away from the border, any serious breakdown or an injury could have meant big, big trouble. The few villages we passed only consisted of shacks more reminiscent of refugee camps, and looking at the tracks in front of us we could tell there was not much traffic moving there. Needless to say, the fact did not add to our confidence.
Track started very good - almost ideal to ride with the big fully loaded GS.
But some 10 km (6 mi) later, the sand suddenly got soft and stayed like this. Only some couple of hundred miles more to go!
Water pump in one of the villages on the road - good to fill up, next possible water is in Ileret, Kenya.
Soon after we crossed the border into Kenya we passed by the village of Ileret - shacks all the same, but there was a police station where our details were written down, our passports (as well as the Carnet) remaining unstamped (to do upon reaching Nairobi, the capital). The track became more and more vague, and as we entered what is the Sibiloi National Park, it was barely there. The heat was just unberable - we measured around +40C (+104F) in shade. We stopped in the middle of some bush, and immediately, out of nowhere, some locals came to check us out. Didn't really think someone would live in that dry bush.
Typical village architecture near lake Turkana.
Once you turn into Sibiloi national park, the track is barely visible.
Locals came out of the bush - in the middle of nowhere! They were very shy and kept distance though.
The sand that we'd been cursing before soon turned into rocks with the track becoming something out of a motorcyclist's worst dream. The loose rocks were sometimes the size of a bowling ball, and with our heavily loaded bike it was a combination that left something to be desired riding in this heat. Added to that was the strong wind and blistering sun, so we kept on wondering, where the hell had we come?
Rocky lava fields ahead...
The first curve across the lava field - got to be careful, since the very round and lightweight volcanic rocks roll like there's no tomorrow!
Rocky track.
Average track conditions in Sibiloi National Park.
Me tired, lake Turkana in the horizon.
Trying to find every shade possible in +40C (+104F) heat, add vicious sun to that!
Kariina took a pic of tired me - red from the face like a lobster!
All this made progressing extremely difficult, so we only moved in 50 meter steps. The steering was totally uncontrollable as the front wheel was trying to negotiate the rolling stones, I intentionally didn't let the tyre pressures down risking punctures or damaged rims, going alone like we did, a breakdown would have ment horror here. These must be the worst in the world as they are light and move in every direction so that on the bike it feels as if a bunch of guys is trying their best to kick you off your feet while you're trying to stay in the upright position. The steep ascents on loose rolling volcanic rocks were almost impossible, so Kariina had to walk and sometimes push. It seemed that the rocks would never end, and at one moment I just got off the bike and refused to move on. I was totally exhausted! We spent an hour sitting under a thorny bush, cooked some pasta and dreamed of the expanses of soft sand - a true bliss compared to those rocks!
It seems we had made a mistake going through the Sibiloi national park, since from what we heard later, the road around it is more used and thus better maintained. In the national park it was just a barely visible track - a true hardcore offroad in the very definition. Combine this with a two up fully loaded RTW bike, huge distances, killer heat and all this in one of the most remote places on Earth, and you get lots of "fun"!
Trying to take a nap, although it turned out to be impossible to relax if being soaked in your own sweat and the little shade didn't help.
By the time the sun was setting the sand was back. Not that it provided much relief, but we were actually progressing and the heat got a little more tolerable. As we reached the Lake Turkana we were allowed to camp at the research station in Koobi Fora, home to just one person. Strange that this place has a name…
Closer to the shores of Lake Turkana we finally had some parts of decent sand - a hell lot better than riding on volcanic rocks!
But we were exhausted, and before too long it was clear that I was having a high fever. With the help of a small travel health handbook that we're carrying (thanks Brian and Marie, it's been helpful many times before!) Kariina diagnosed me with dehydration, so I was forced to drink a solution of rehydrating salts. We inquired the caretaker about the availability of food as we were tired of instant noodles, and he came rushing with a box of eggs he'd bought from a market across the lake - the tracks are so murderous on the vehicles that it makes sense to get supplies by boat indeed (a few rusting Land Rover Defenders with broken axles in the yard were a proof of that). I really do not want you to go to sleep hungry, he said, refusing to accept any payment. After such a difficult day, the warmth and hospitality of this guy living alone in this deserted place was heaven sent.
We left the eggs for the morning though, as it was going to be another difficult day. But in the morning, the fever was still there, so we decided to stay the day and have some rest. It turned out to be quite an interesting place, with crocodiles lazing on the small islands near the shore in the lake, and rabbits running around. In the bathroom, there was a bat.
A dragonfly in Koobi Fora.
Some bones collected in the small museum the owner keeps.
A bat on the washroom's ceiling.
Someone's shock has gone bust and has been thrown into the bush.
The caretaker informed the Ileret police station via his every morning radio communication session of our successful arrival to Koobi Fora, and later brought us some dried fish, so the good first impression of Kenya was guaranteed. But we still had some interesting stuff ahead of us…
The next day fresh ahead from Koobi Fora - hundreds of miles more offroad tracks ahead...
Considering that we wanted to reach Loiyangalani by the end of the day, we had a long way ahead. Although it is still in the middle of nowhere, at least Loiyangalani is big enough to be stocked with hot food and cold drinks. Yeah, nothing appealed to us more than the illusion of holding in our hand a bottle wet with condensation, and to let the ice cold coke flow, so after we had filled out jerry can with water from the supplies of the research station (and dropped a purifying tablet in it, which made the water taste as if some sort of anaesthetic had been added) we hit the road.
The caretaker told us there would be some more soft sand track for some 15 kilometers (10 miles), after which the track should have become better.
The start of the day.
Being too confident and full of energy is not good.
An hour later, and we were rolling (literally!) on loose gravel. It would have been OK if not for the deep ruts and strong sidewinds trying to push us off the track.
Then the gravel was replaced by big rocks that were quite different from the ones we'd suffered the first day. Some of them were loose, and some were not. In places it became so bad that it did not remind of a track at all - pure offroad, but this one even had a number - C77. Incredible, totally incredible. Sure we got the wheels off the ground a couple of times.
Seems easy? Try that with sidewinds that won't let you even stand normally!
But the most difficult parts were with the rolling volcanic rocks - lots of fun in +38C (+100F) heat.
Yes, that's the "highway".
Only some hundred miles more of this stuff... We need more rocks!
Then the track took the direction towards the lake shore again, and the rocks disappeared. It was sand once again. The locals have a saying that when God was designing the Earth he left this area for the last, but in the end he was so exhausted that he just took all the rubbish and rocks and piled them here.
Another lavafield.
Just before Loiyangalani we finally got some relief - a proper easily rideable track.
Panorama from southern side of Lake Turkana (click to enlarge)
By the end of the day, we indeed had managed to get to Loiyangalani. And the coke was heavenly, that's for sure! Since surprisingly for us it cost the same to either pitch a tent or to sleep in a local style hut, we decided to try the latter one out.
Our hut for the night in Loiyangalani.
A Rendille tribe woman in front of her village.
With four different tribes calling it their home, Loiyangalani is a parade of colourful outfits. In the morning we got up early and went for a walk around the village to get a better picture of how they live. Although some of them are intermarried, the general tendency is that the Turkana, Samburu, Rendille and El-Molo live in separate corners of the village, so before the light conditions got terrible (and they do get terrible close to the equator), we only got to visit the Turkana and Rendille.
Girl carrying water home.
Rendille woman in traditional dress.
Turkana village.
Typical house in the village.
Girl carrying water for home...
Portrait of a woman from Turkana tribe.
Portrait of a Samburu boy.
We got on our way again, aiming to get to Maralal some two hundred kilometers away by night fall. Once again we were told the bad conditions would last for a couple of dozens of kilometers more, but what spectacular kilometers they were, the track skirting the lake shore.
A hell lot improved track on the Southern side of Lake Turkana.
Shores of Lake Turkana.
Waves and reflections on the lake...
Lake Turkana, decent trail, decent scenery.
Turkana tribeswoman checking us out.
A higher view to Lake Turkana.
Then it indeed became better at one point, the rocks being replaced by sand - much more rideable, but still slow going. The thing with the sand is that its texture may change from hard to soft in a blink of an eye. We'd learned our lessons on previous days, and figured that 16 offs were enough already, so we took it easy.
Desert turning slowly into savannah...
Finally some trees...
Funky blossoming African tree.
And close to South Horr the track got very good - it now took the definition of "road" (well, for some couple of miles only though...)
Local flora.
On multiple occasions on this track had we concluded that it must in fact have been the toughest of the ones we'd ever undertaken, combining deep, soft sand, loose gravel, deep ruts, rolling lava stones, strong winds… I mean our bike had been tried out in difficult conditions before, such as the uninhabited highlands of South-West Bolivia, muddy jungle roads of Brazil, Australian corrugated outback, rivercrossings in Laos, the snow clad slopes of the Himalayas… but this was even worse, and most of all, lasted for hundreds of kilometers. Hot as hell, too. Our Hyperpro shocks were doing an exceptional job, to say the least.
But just as we were thinking of it, the track started climbing again, up a steep rocky slope. It was torturous. After a while we stopped to catch our breath as Kariina noticed a few drops of clear liquid under the bike. At first she thought it was water, because our jerry can containing water was leaking a little, but then she decided to check the shock as well, just in case (we do know the drill by now…).
It was not water - it was oil, and sure enough it was coming from the shock. Well, couldn't really have blamed the shock looking at what it had had to endure, but then we got the seat off the bike (which, at first, refused to get off) to see where it was leaking from exactly, and we realised what really had happened. The frame had cracked near the shock mount big time, also damaging the bolt keeping the shock's external reservoir hose in place - this why the seat didn't come off as well. So it wasn't the shock that had given in this time, but due to the frame it was screwed all the same. It must be a curse, no doubt.
In any case we were unable to ride on as any sharp bump could have forced the shock through the seat right into my backside.
Stuck with a broken rear subframe - Kariina went to see if road got better behind the curve, obviously it didn't so there was no point continuing even very slowly.
Cracked frame - the shock's external reservoir's bolt was deformed with a contact against one side of the crack = shock leaking oil from the loosened hydraulic bolt. A complete irony with our ever continuing rear shock problems! It's not the shock's fault this time, but the result is the same - ruined rear shock!
So we were stuck in the middle of nowhere on a road where during three days we had only seen one vehicle. It was very unlikely anybody would have come by and found us the same day. Maybe the next day, or the day after the next day? We had only enough water lo last us through to the next morning, so unless we wanted to risk ending up on vultures' Christmas menu, we had to act.
Since the whole thing had a good potential of turning into an emergency situation, we looked up our satellite phone and tried contacting our honorary consul in Kenya first, but to no avail. Who knows, maybe she was on vacation or something.
Then, with some help from a friend, we got hold of a guy who runs an exceptionally popular overlander campground and a workshop in Nairobi. We called him and he started to look for a contact that could get us out of that place.
Meanwhile, to our greatest surprise, and to an even greater delight, we heard a buzz coming from around the bend, and soon a small chinese bike carrying two men and a whole lot of luggage rolled out. We knew that those guys might just be our best bet.
First they suggested we try repairing the thing with wires and metal tubes they had with them, but we managed to convince them that no way would such a set-up hold. We were talking about a heavy bike and disasterous road conditions after all. Then one of them realised that he had a cousin in the next village, who knew someone who knew someone who had a Land Rover. Sounded almost too good to be true, but we got our satellite phone (of course there was no mobile coverage) and had the guy call who ever he knew. Before too long we had a deal. He was first asking 10 000 shilling for coming after us and taking us to that next village which, by the way, was only 25 kilometers away. After some negotiations we got the price down to 7 000 shilling. Which was still awful lot of money considering the short istance, but who were we to argue?
The guys on the motorbike continued their journey, leaving us to wait for our pick-up to arrive. An hour went by, two hours went by. The sun set and very soon it was dark. We started wondering about the chance that no one would turn up to rescue us, but found it unlikely. It could be a matter of life and death after all. Then we tried to imagine how it would be to camp there. Suddenly, we heard barking in the bush. It did not sound like a dog. A hyena maybe? Or a jackal? Or a wild dog? We did not have any idea what sound they could be making. Just in case we looked up our knives and were prepared to climb the nearest tree.
We looked around anxiously. It was pitch dark, but in the beams from our head lamps we could see a pair of eyes watching us closely some 30 meters away in the bush. Scary indeed.
But before we could decide to jump onto a tree, we noticed a pair of headlights on the horizon. As they approached us, the enigmatic beast in the bush disappeared.
After a lot of sweating we had the bike loaded onto the pickup and our long ride on the moonscape-like road to the next village, Baragoi, could begin. In the dark the track looked and felt even worse - much more uneven than we could ever have imagined the surface of the Moon to be, actually. But we were exhausted and our bodies were numb, so we just bounced to the rhythm of cracks and boulders in the ground. And to Mariah Carey and religious Kenyan rap. Our driver, Daniel, is learning to become a priest.
In Baragoi we met the owner of the car, and the next morning - after having had a deep sleep in our thent that we had pitched in his back yard - we agreed with him - after long and extremely painful negotiations - that the same car would take us to Nairobi where we had better chances to do some repairs. Why painful? Let us just say that what he was asking for this trip sounded totally incredible, even absurd - it still does - but considering the conditions (and that he had to repair the axles two times on the way) I can't really blame him. Will try not to break down in such remote places in the future.
On the way to Nairobi - not the way we'd like to.
A couple of hundred kilometers before Nairobi it dawned on us that our driver had probably never driven on tarmac, let alone in a city. Well, he was a true master in offroad, but let's just say that even on the smooth tar our speeds did never exceed 40 km/h, and we constantly had to remind him to stick to the left side of the road. It was absolutely frightening. Once we almost crashed into an oncoming car because he could not make heads or tails of where on the road he was. Entering the city with its chaos was a whole new story, but we made it - after being on the road in a cramped front seat where 3 of us had to fit for 20 hours. The sun rose, another day began, and we had to start sorting out the mess…
So there we were, with a broken frame and also with a broken shock because of that - I know old Yamaha TDMs had the upper shock mount collapse over the shock when ridden hard 2 up fully loaded in extreme conditions but I've never seen frame to break from that spot on the oilhead GS. Usually they break from other well known spots (which I had reinforced before we left home), but looks we are just one unlucky couple - OK, maybe riding through Pakistan and Iran with our broken split-in-half taped up Öhlins with the bike shaking and vibrating as hell that may have put the start on cracks on the subframe's shock mount that now finally gave up in extreme conditions after we had done most of the Turkana trail.
We could have repaired the old one, but it was just too risky since the shock mount is of a very hard material - bending the crack back together all the frame started to bend around it and wouldn't fit back to the bike. Also the subframe's mounting points support onto the engine and gearbox which is made out of cast that can crack - broken engine or gearbox casing isn't a thing we want. So we decided the least risk route was to opt for a new one, which proved to be a tricky thing to find. Having explored different options, we had our friend back in Estonia unbolt his bike (the same model!) and send us his subframe, which was destined to take ages to arrive - fast services such as DHL and UPS would have charged us according to volumetric weight, the transport costing some EUR 1000! We chose regular air mail instead, and had to be patient, really patient.
Trying to close the gap on the crack - the rest of the frame started to bend around it.
As to the shock, we got it repaired very fast - a few days to send it to Hyperpro Netherlands with UPS and couple of days back (we didn't even bother with local suspension mechanics since it's been all bad experience for us - factory is your best bet of receiving reliable service and a reliable shock). And most of all Hyperpro repaired the hydraulic hose for free! It wasn't their or the shock's fault that the broken frame damaged the shock, but still they repaired it AND also included spare bearings houses for both front and rear shock. Respect to Hyperpro!
Repaired shock - looks like brand new again!
Bearing houses - if the old ones wear out there are new ones
Check the very ROUND Kenyan Goverment fee on the customs bill - welcome to Africa
So we killed our time for additional month of waiting for the new subframe...
And we also met some interesting travellers in Nairobi...
Two Norwegians doing a RTW on 70+ year old Nimbus motorcycles - it takes a real (mechanically minded) man to do it!
Open valves - they are pretty cool to look at when the engine runs.
And amongst all other travellers we met an English-Australian couple here who are pure vegetarians, so we had a chance to learn to cook some meat-free dishes, such as vegan barbeque...
Yummy...
Our first-ever 100% vegetarian grill
And after many-many depressing days of waiting, our subrame arrived - pure joy!
Old versus new.
Reinforcing the frame...
Once the bike was in one piece again - after a month and a half of waiting and worrying, all we could think of was getting out of Nairobi - the further and faster, the better. So we headed towards Uganda, but since we had not done much of sightseeing in Kenya while we were there, we did a short detour to Lake Baringo first, famous for its hippo population.
But first things first - the equator had to be crossed again since Nairobi is located on the southern hemisphere, and Lake Baringo on the northern hemisphere. Hakuna matata!
Crossing equator in Kenya.
Lake Baringo was a great contrast to the otherwise arid landscape of Kenya, but the hippoes managed to evade us completely. During the day they stay in the water, coming out to graze at night when it is too dark to see them. But we sure heard their growling through all the night, preventing us from sleeping. Hippoes are considered the most aggressive mammals in Africa, causing many human deaths. So it is wise not to stray from your tent, and to stay silent if they're around.
First light on Lake Baringo - the birds start to sing like crazy around this time.
Panorama from the lake Baringo shore (click to enlarge)
Sounds from the same place:
..:: LISTEN ::..
The next day we took the direction of Ugandan border. Some landscapes along the way:
Panorama of West Kenyan landscape (click to enlarge)
Sisal plantation.
Green stuff that makes good strong ropes.
Kenyan landscape on the way to Uganda.
Before we crossed the borded we filled our tummies with some local freshwater fish called tilapia.
Fish and chips African style...
Next stop: Uganda.
